I had nor hope—nor life—nor breath;
I only felt the ice of death
Slowly congealing o’er my heart—
And on my eye a dizzy cloud
Swam round and round, a sickening part
Of that which seemed a closing shroud
The one might feel whom burial gave
All prematurely to the grave.
But soon that deadly trance was o’er;
The foliage hid as yet; and I